Gang Aft Agley: A Black Sheep Christmas Tale
by highlandgypsy
Summary: Gang aft agley - the best laid plans often go awry. This is never more evident than when the men of VMF 214 set out to celebrate Christmas Eve with their girls. Love, friendship and trust overcome everything else when plans for a romantic evening take a detour.


_Gang aft agley - the best laid plans often go awry. This is never more evident than when the men of VMF 214 set out to celebrate Christmas Eve with their girls. Love, friendship and trust overcome everything else when plans for a romantic evening take a detour._

 **Dec. 24, 1943**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

Katherine Christine "K.C." Cameron sat in her tent, pecking absently at her typewriter. The Associated Press war correspondent was having a hard time staying on track with the story she was writing. Her thoughts were somewhere over the Solomon Slot, flying ghost rider with the Black Sheep of VMF 214. The boys had gone up at 1500 and wouldn't be back for a few hours. Kate had been surprised when Major Greg Boyington, the unit's CO, told her they were flying a mission on Christmas Eve.

"According to Lard's intel, Tojo isn't expecting any kind of action this close to the holiday," Greg said, "so we're going to drop down his chimney and put something in his stocking he'll remember."

It made as much sense as anything else Kate had experienced since she'd been assigned to cover the 214. Colonel Thomas Lard had embedded her with the unit in hopes the constant press scrutiny would force Greg and his unorthodox band of United States Marine Corps pilots to toe the line in regard to regulations. It hadn't exactly worked out that way.

She stared at her typewriter. Her mind could not have possibly been less focused on her current story, the Black Sheep's involvement in destroying the top secret Japanese radar installation known as the Cat's Whiskers. She needed to craft the story in a way that emphasized the mission's outcome - not the fact they'd gone a little rogue in the process - and make sure Colonel Lard didn't have much room to complain. Not that that would stop him. Complaining about the Black Sheep was what he did best. She made a face at her typewriter and looked instead at the picnic hamper Greg had delivered to her tent earlier.

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart," he'd said, setting the hamper down and kissing her neck as she worked. "When I get back, we'll go someplace even Santa Claus can't find us and enjoy this."

Well _that_ didn't help her focus any, either. She and Greg started out as adversaries. When she'd arrived on Vella La Cava, he'd made it perfectly clear he had no use for the press corps. In the following weeks, they'd gradually become friends and their relationship had grown from tolerance to trust to appreciation to something considerably more. They'd been lovers for the last month.

Unable to contain her curiosity, Kate pushed back from her desk and knelt in front of the hamper. Greg hadn't told her not too peek, had he? She lifted the lid and caught her breath. It looked like something straight from Harrod's of London. Several blocks of wax-sealed cheese, crackers, smoked sausages and tinned salmon, pickled eggs, a glass jar of candied citrus, a loosely foil-wrapped cake thick with chocolate icing and a bottle of her favorite Aussie red wine. There was enough food in there for an army. She swallowed a smile. They'd never eat it all. They wouldn't eat a fraction of it. Food was never a priority when they were able to escape to their private beach.

Meatball, Greg's white bull terrier, nudged under arm. She gave him an affectionate squeeze and closed the lid before he could help himself.

Over the chatter of birds in the surrounding jungle, Kate heard the drone of an incoming engine. She glanced at her watch. It was barely 1700, too soon for the squadron to be back. A transport? She didn't think one was expected today but the first thing she'd learned on this rock was that nothing ever happened as expected. She whistled for Meatball and headed for the airstrip.

The C-47 lumbered down out of the late afternoon sun. Not exactly a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, Kate thought as the plane taxied to a stop. This was her first Christmas in the tropics and she was trying to reconcile the odd contradiction between the calendar's claim it was December 24 while she was surrounded by palm trees and blazing sunshine. A native of North Dakota, this would be her first Christmas in a tropical climate.

The passenger egress door of the C-47 opened and she broke into a smile. Two familiar figured paused atop the steps. One was tall and slender, with flaming hair touched by sun-streaked highlights, the other powerfully built, with four legs and a dark muzzle that was sniffing the air.

"Sarah!" Kate flew across the packed dirt of the airstrip, Meatball at her heels, to greet her sister.

 **XXX**

Sergeant Andy Micklin, the 214's line chief, glared at the calendar hanging over the work bench as if his steely gaze could make the day just plain disappear. He looked forward to December 24 every year with all the anticipation of a man walking to the gallows. It was finally here. Another damned Christmas Eve, reminding him of things he didn't want to think about. Twenty-eight December 24ths had come and gone since that snowy Christmas Eve in Tennessee without him telling anyone why the day bothered him so much. He didn't see why this one should be any different. It wasn't like anyone here would care anyway.

It didn't hurt as much as it used to. The pain had faded with time. It was more of a lingering ache now. He never told anyone why he preferred to be alone on Christmas Eve. Seriously alone, not pretending to be happy while sitting in the corner at some party.

He held the memory in a safe place in his heart, revisiting it when he needed to think maybe he'd created something - or had a part in creating something - that made this stupid war worth fighting. Then he would tuck it carefully away again and go back to dealing with them damned college boys who were determined to wreck his aircraft.

By the end of the night, he hoped he'd be able to ignore both the memory and its accompanying ache completely. The fifth of Scotch stashed in his tent would help. He rarely drank to excess but once a year he made an exception. After this evening, he'd be able to put the memory away for another year. That had worked for the last twenty-eight years. It wasn't a perfect system but it was good enough.

Then she'd arrived.

Confident, straight forward, with a genuine laugh, quick wit and that take no prisoners attitude. She didn't suffer fools gladly and she'd had them college boys wrapped around her little finger within minutes. She'd gone toe-to-toe with Boyington her first day here after he'd pulled a flyover or some such shenanigans. Micklin chuckled at that memory. He'd been standing on the other side of the major's plane and heard the whole thing. Oh, she'd been furious and she wasn't having any part of those blue eyes or that dimpled smile that made most women fall at Boyington's feet.

Micklin had liked her from the start and she shared his easy affection, coming to him with questions for stories she was writing or sometimes, just to visit while he worked. He'd winced when it became apparent she was developing more than a professional relationship with the Black Sheep's. She was too good for him. She was too good for any of them flyboys but she seemed happy and that damn arrogant Marine treated her with a degree of respect Micklin had never seen before.

Katherine. Her name just had to be Katherine.

She wasn't his Katherine but it made him think. Mostly he thought about how he wanted December 24 to be over so he could spend the next 364 days not thinking about what happened 28 years ago.

 **XXX**

Stepping out of the transport, U.S. Army Sergeant Sarah Cameron watched in amusement as her Alsatian shepherd, Raider, bounced in place and made absurdly happy noises at the sight of the white bull terrier.

"Oh, go on then," she said and unclipped the dog's leash. Raider vaulted off the transport's steps ahead of her to greet Meatball, the 214's mascot. The dogs engaged in an ecstasy of sniffing and posturing.

Beyond them, a slender girl with sun-kissed light brown hair caught back in an unruly tail was practically jumping up and down with delight. Sarah picked her way down the steps, dropped her duffle bag in the dirt and caught Kate in a bear hug.

"You're crazier than a pet coon, you know that?" Kate shoved her back at arm's length. "La Cava is not the vacation spot of this theatre and I know I'm not the real reason you keep coming here." She grinned broadly. "Is Jim expecting you?"

Sarah shook her head.

"No. I got a 24 hour pass and thought I'd surprise him for Christmas."

"You'll make his day. I don't know what you've done to that boy but he's absolutely pining away without you."

Sarah swallowed a half-embarrassed, half-pleased smile. She was Kate's little sister, younger by two years, and served as an Army scout dog handler stationed on Rendova. She'd ended up in the South Pacific following an odd turn of events that left her posted in the same area as Kate and also sparked a relationship between her and one of the Black Sheep's pilots.

Sarah was all too aware of Captain Jim Gutterman's reputation but so far during the time they'd spent together, he'd been a gentleman. More or less. All right, a couple of times, considerably less. Sarah knew Kate struggled to keep her mouth shut about her concern for her little sister's virtue. Her virtue, Sarah thought, was no one's business but her own. And Jim's, if she chose to make it that way. Kate didn't have a lot of room to talk. It wasn't like she and Greg were just holding hands at the movies.

"They're flying a mission on Christmas Eve?" Sarah looked around, indicating the empty flight line.

"Lard's orders." Kate shrugged. "The boys are planning some kind of Christmas party once they get back, though. I'm sure Jim will be happy to rearrange his plans if you've got something else in mind."

Sarah blushed. She didn't share Kate's easy self-confidence when it came to men, although time spent with Jim was changing that. Jim Gutterman was an acquired taste but one Sarah had become more than partial to. His rough exterior shielded a surprisingly gentle side and when they were together, he made her feel like she was the only girl in his world. Which, Kate assured her, she was.

"Grab your gear, we'll go chew on a cup of coffee while we wait for the boys to get back." Kate jerked her head toward the Sheep Pen, the ramshackle little building that was the center of the base's social activities.

Sarah grimaced. She didn't know if it came with the job or was an in-born ability but her sister could drink anything that could be poured into a cup. Sarah had neither a head for hard liquor or coffee that had been on the boiler since before sunrise. With any luck, she could find a dusty bottle of Coke in the back of the refrigerator. She picked up her duffle and with the dogs capering around them, the girls headed off.

 **XXX**

From his vantage point inside the mechanics' shed, Micklin watched them go, a fond smile curving his lips. He liked Sarah almost as much he liked Kate. Her and that great big dog. He'd told her the first time he met her, if any of them Black Sheep gave her trouble, she should come to him and he'd take care of it. From what he'd seen, neither of the Cameron girls needed anyone to look out for them but he'd made sure they both knew he had their six.

He smiled around the stub of cigar clenched in his teeth. Having those two girls on the island was enough to take his mind off the calendar. Almost.

 **XXX**

U.S. Navy Lieutenant Dee Ryan gritted her teeth and forcibly restrained herself from bringing the bed pan in her hand down on top of Commander Delmonte's head. Granted, it was clean but hitting a superior officer over the head with a bed pan, regardless of its condition, would not be considered conduct becoming an officer. She knew Delmonte wouldn't hesitate to put her under hack, Christmas Eve or not. The commander had just extended Dee's shift by four hours so she could leave for an upper-level-brass cocktail party on Espritos. The idea of Delmonte at a cocktail party was only slightly less absurd than the idea of Delmonte with a bedpan wrapped around her head.

"Yes, ma'am, I understood," Dee said and glared at her superior officer's retreating bulk. She doubted anyone on Espritos would be dragging _that_ battleaxe under the mistletoe. She sighed and shoved a dark brown curl behind her ear. Unless Casey wanted to spend Christmas Eve helping her fill out supply requisitions, Dee didn't think it looked like she would be ending up under the mistletoe anytime soon, either.

The hospital was deserted. Action in the theatre had slowed in the days leading up to Christmas and the hospital ships at anchor in nearby waters were as empty as the hospital wards on Espritos and La Cava. Good for the boys, bad for her. Not only did she have to pull an extra-long shift, now she was going to have to invent things to do to keep busy because Delmonte would expect a complete accounting of her time when she returned. If Casey showed up, chances were good they'd end up doing thing she would _not_ put in a report.

Dee looked at her watch. When she got a break, she'd radio the 214 and ask someone to send word to Casey she'd be late for the party in the Sheep Pen, if she got there at all.

Casey – Lieutenant Lawrence Casey, only no one ever used his first name, including her – had promised her they'd do something special tonight. He'd joked about going somewhere private to unwrap presents but she had a pretty good idea what he had in mind.

Thinking about him, blue-eyed, tow-headed and with a not-quite-innocent grin, made her smile in spite of her pique at Delmonte. She and Casey had been together almost since the Black Sheep were formed, a nearly unheard of state of affairs when it came to those boys and their fly-by-night romances. She met him when he shoved her into a foxhole during an air raid five minutes after she landed on La Cava. It had been the beginning of a friendship that blossomed into a full-blown romance after Casey's girl back in the states threw him over for another boy. This was their first Christmas together and Dee hoped they'd be able to do something to make it memorable. She sighed. Leave it to Delmonte to screw up those plans.

 **XXX**

The Black Sheep returned at 1800, smoking, sputtering, coughing and full of 20mm rounds, but otherwise unhurt. It turned out, Tojo was a little more prepared for a Christmas Eve strike by the Americans than Colonel Lard or anyone at ComSoPac had anticipated. The mission had been a success to the degree the men had all come back in one piece. The same could not be said for their birds.

Oily black smoke was oozing into the cockpit as Greg shoved his canopy back and dropped to the ground. He was glad to have set the plane down while there was still enough oil in the engine for pressure to register on the gauge. Looking at the engine cowling, it looked like most of the substance in question was now sprayed over the exterior of the plane. He pulled off his headgear and mae west as John "Hutch" Hutchinson, the lead mechanic on the line joined him to survey the damage.

"You guys came back in worse shape than you have for a couple of weeks," Hutch said. "Micklin's gonna lose his shit when he sees this. He's been grumpier than a wet hen all day."

"He'd be even grumpier if he was up there, getting his tail feathers shot off," Greg said.

Hutch shrugged.

"You try explaining that to him. He's gotten worse all week. A couple of times I've caught him staring at the calendar and muttering. I don't know what - "

"Boyington! What the hell did you and them college boys do to my airplanes this time?" Micklin's voice bellowed through the evening air. "I ain't never seen such a sorry mess set down at once in my life."

"See?" Hutch said, and faded quietly away.

Micklin stomped down the line, giving each plane a cursory inspection, until he drew up in front of Greg.

"Hell, it looks like half of 'em are on fire and the other half are seized up. Ain't one of them in the same shape I sent 'em outta here in." He took the cigar out of his mouth and spat.

"If you hadn't noticed, the enemy is in the habit of shooting back, Sarge," Greg said.

"Maybe you ought to try a little harder to shoot the enemy first," Micklin snarled.

"You wanna go up there and give it a try?" Greg glared at him.

"I couldn't do any worse than Wiley. He came back with enough lead in his bird to open a pencil factory."

"At least he came back," Greg said and that effectively put an end to the conversation. The two men glared at each other. Greg heard the sound of an approaching jeep but refused to break Micklin's gaze. He got along with the line chief just well enough to keep from killing him and he figured the feeling was mutual. Neither of them were about to give an inch.

Micklin glanced at the jeep as it drew even with the flight line. Greg saw his eyes soften imperceptibly and knew who it was even before he felt Kate's arm slide around his waist. He caught her scent, like rain-washed air after a thunderstorm. She stepped up next to him and he slung his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Greg noted, with surprise, Kate's sister Sarah was with her. He noted, without surprise, she was already in Jim's arms, undeterred by the sweat and smoke that covered most of the pilots.

"Rough going up there?" Kate stated the obvious as she looked at the oil dripping in a dismal black rain from the cowling.

"Pretty much. Tojo wasn't sitting at home singing carols like he was supposed to," Greg said.

"You ever see these boys bring my planes back in one piece, it'll be a Christmas miracle," Micklin growled.

Kate turned to him and brightened.

"Merry Christmas, Sarge."

"Merry Christmas, Miss Kate."

Greg smiled inwardly at the odd relationship between Kate and the irascible line chief. Micklin was never less than courteous to her and Greg had watched her defuse more than one volatile situation between him and assorted Black Sheep. It was clear she enjoyed a higher status than any of the men who actually held rank in the Marine Corps.

"Hey, Micklin!' Bobby Anderson shouted. "We're having a Christmas Eve get together in the Sheep Pen tonight, come on over and have a cup of cheer."

"I ain't drinkin' with no college boys who got my planes shot up today." The cigar was back in his teeth and the snarl was back on his face.

"Oh come on, Sarge," Greg said. "Today was our last mission for four days. We're on stand down until after Christmas, then we're on leave. Take the night off and come have a drink. You'll have plenty of time to put our birds back together."

"I wouldn't have time to fix this mess if I started last week," Micklin said. "You boys go have your little party, let the real Marine do the work."

"Looks like Santa delivered my present early," Jim said, walking by with his arm around Sarah. "We'll see ya'll later."

Greg didn't miss Kate's eye roll. He knew she was skeptical of her sister's relationship with one of the 214's biggest skirt chasers but he'd put money on it Jim's love 'em and leave 'em days were over.

"I'm going to get cleaned up, I'll meet you at the Sheep Pen for a drink, then we'll . . ." He didn't have to finish the sentence, the look in her eye told him she knew exactly what was on his mind. He kissed her lightly on the forehead and she left.

Greg watched her go, allowing himself a few minutes to appreciate the curve of her hips and the length of those spectacular legs as she got back into the jeep.

"That's a sweet little girl you got there." Micklin's voice came from behind him.

Greg turned.

"Yeah. I know that," he said evenly.

"You ever do anything to hurt her, I'll personally see you pay for it."

Where the hell was _this_ coming from?

"If I need advice about my love life, I'll let you know."

"I ain't talkin' about what you two do out on the beach." Micklin looked him in the eye but his usual belligerence was missing. "That ain't none of my business. She seems to like you fine enough and that's all that matters. But you ain't never done nothin' to deserve a girl like that. Don't you never forget it."

"Why this sudden concern for Kate?"

Micklin looked pensive.

"She reminds me of someone," was all he said before turning away.

 **XXX**

Lieutenant Larry Casey's plans for the evening did not include anything remotely connected to aerial combat at or keeping himself or his buddies from getting splashed. The day's mission had been a rough one and he was only too glad to put the flight line in his rear view mirror. An evening with his girl in his arms would do wonders for taking his mind off the war. A little drinking, a little dancing at the Sheep Pen, then slipping away for some much more private time on the beach to celebrate the gifts they could give each other would be better than any store-bought presents.

The note from Dee was on his bunk when he got back to his tent after the mission de-brief.

 _Cmdr. Delmonte assigned extra hours. Not off shift until 2200. Sorry. Enjoy a drink at the Sheep Pen and have one for me, too. I'll catch up with you later or come to hospital when you can. Bring package you want me to open. D_

He could only imagine what Stevenson in the com shack thought as he took _that_ message. Nothing like a war to screw up the holidays. Grabbing his shower bucket, he headed out to clean up. He'd have a couple of drinks with the guys, then drive over to the hospital. If Dee couldn't come here for the party, he'd take the party to her. It looked like the present unwrapping might not happen as soon as he'd hoped but he was confident they would enjoy it before the night was over.

 **XXX**

Lieutenant TJ Wiley uncorked the final bottle of Scotch and poured it into the big white enamelware pot on the bar in the empty Sheep Pen. He looked up as Lieutent Jerry Bragg came through the door.

"Did you get it?" TJ asked.

"Yeah, here." Jerry thrust out several small paper packets.

"Everything I asked for?"

"Brown sugar, cinnamon and cloves. I couldn't find any nutmeg."

"No problem. This should be enough."

TJ opened a packet and inhaled. A beatific smile spread over his face. He sprinkled the sugar and spices over the surface of the liquid and stirred.

"What exactly is in that?" Jerry peered over his shoulder.

"Scotch, some of that rum we got in a trade from the Seabees and a little coconut milk. I'm gonna add this for color –" he picked up a cutting board laden with bits of chopped fruit and tipped it into the pot.

"Is it any good?"

"Try some." TJ dipped a canteen cup into the pot and handed it to Jerry. The husky pilot sipped, rolled the concoction around his mouth and finally swallowed.

"That'll cure what ails you," he said when he could talk again. "Are you sure it's safe to drink?"

TJ took the cup back and helped himself to a sample.

"Maybe I should add some more rum. We've got plenty." He uncorked another bottle and upended it over the pot. Jerry looked dubious.

"It'll mellow with age," TJ assured him, putting a lid over the pot. "By tonight, it'll be a guaranteed panty-dropper. Get a couple of drinks into the nurse of your choice and she'll be on the naughty list for sure."

"Whattaya call that stuff?"

"Kilts on the Beach," TJ said proudly. "You know, kilts because of the Scotch and beach because of the rum. And because the girls will agree to anything after they've had a few glasses. Just you wait - this is gonna be a Christmas Eve to remember!"

 **XXX**

Showered and in a clean uniform, Jim rolled up his cuffs. Sarah's unannounced arrival was the best Christmas present he could ask for. He'd expected to spend this Christmas Eve like every other one in the three years since he'd joined the Corps – drinking and playing cards. He figured with Greg taking Kate down to the beach – _that_ was a given –he could reign over the poker table and maybe pick up some extra cash from unsuspecting, or intoxicated, Black Sheep. Hell, he would have been happy to get blissfully drunk himself. But now that Sarah was here, those plans had been ditched. The girl was worth 100 percent of his attention. His sober attention.

"So what are you giving Sarah for Christmas?" TJ, freshly showered himself, hung up his towel and pulled on a clean shirt. "Or maybe she's got plans to give you something special."

"Knock it off, Wiley." Jim was used to his wingman and tent-mate's endless teasing and it didn't bother him, although he wasn't going to let TJ know that.

He and Sarah hadn't slept together yet so he knew exactly what kind of present the other boys expected him to give her. Oddly enough, for once in his life, he wasn't in a rush to get her into bed. Besides, the only real beds on La Cava were in the hospital and that sure as hell didn't have romance written all over it.

"It's nice on the beach this time of year," TJ persisted. "Bet if you got a few drinks in her, she wouldn't tell you no. Here, maybe this will help." He pulled a bottle out of a crate under his bunk and held it out.

"What's that?" Jim took the bottle, uncorked it and sipped.

"Some of the punch I made for the party tonight. I bottled up a little of the extra to share. Took some over to the hospital earlier for Doc Reese to thank him for stitching me up a few weeks back. Got bottles for all you guys."

"Wiley, this stuff would knock out a water buffalo. And I ain't getting her drunk tonight. We'll just . . . just . . ." Jim wasn't entirely sure what they'd do but taking advantage of Sarah after she had too much to drink was not on the agenda. In contrast with her sister, who could drink half the unit's men under the table, Sarah was a complete lightweight when it came to alcohol.

She wouldn't tell him no even without the drinks and Jim knew it. It wasn't a matter of yes or no. It was a matter of when and where and he was constantly considering the possibilities whenever they were together.

"So tell me, is she naughty or nice?" TJ persisted. "How far have you –"

"Wiley, don't push your luck. If you had a steady girl of your own, maybe you wouldn't be so interested in what everyone else is doing."

TJ shook his head in amusement.

"A steady girl. I never thought I'd hear those words come out of your mouth," he said.

Jim snorted and left the tent. He'd never thought he'd say them.

 **XXX**

The Sheep Pen was sparkling with light and music. The Bobbies – Anderson and Boyle - had distilled pounds of waxy fruit peelings, leaves and berries, then poured the reduction into sawed off empty shell casings from the island's gun placements to create candles. They used strips of old socks, tightly braided and soaked in wax, for slow-burning wicks. The results of this industry were grouped on the tables and in the window ledges, surrounded by shells and bits of sea glass, where they created a lovely, flickering ambiance. They also increased the risk of setting the place on fire by about 100-fold but the party-goers weren't concerned.

Don French had shown a talent for twining strands of feathery green vines with clusters of red berries into wreaths. He dusted them with sparkly bits of metal shavings swept off the floor under the lathe in the mechanics' shed and the hung the finished product on the walls where they glittered like frosty evergreen boughs in the candlelight.

TJ's punch was the centerpiece of the bar. The finished product had such a high alcohol content it could have been used as a medical grade disinfectant and probably shouldn't have been allowed within 50 feet of open flame. On the jukebox, Bing Crosby was crooning "I'll Be Home For Christmas." The Black Sheep were ready to celebrate.

 **XXX**

Kate leaned against the bar, chatting with Casey, Jim and Sarah while cautiously sampling TJ's punch. It had a deceptively smooth flavor, redolent with spices, although she suspected the morning after any over-indulgence would not be pretty.

"Where's Dee?" Kate asked, looking around. "I thought she was coming."

"Delmonte assigned her an extra half shift," Casey said. "She said most of the upper-level medical brass went to Espritos for a party. It's just her and Doc Reese on duty tonight. I'm gonna head over there pretty soon and, uh, see if she needs any help."

"Uh-huh," Kate said with a knowing grin.

Greg stepped up behind her and squeezed her shoulders. Kate handed him a cup of punch.

"Nothing says Christmas like Kilts On The Beach," she said.

"Kilts On The what?" Greg took a pull and made a face. "Drink too much of that and you won't wake up until New Year's," he said. "Hutch can use the leftovers as solvent."

"It's not that bad." Kate took another sip.

"Don't tell me you like it."

"There's no accounting for taste." She grinned at him.

He pulled her into his arms and steered her across the Sheep Pen.

"What are you doing?"

Greg didn't say anything, just raised his eyes.

Kate looked up. A cluster of white tropical flowers with red centers was suspended from a ceiling beam.

"Mistletoe," he said, a dimple creasing his cheek. "You know what that means."

"That is _not_ mistletoe, Boyington," she said. "Mistletoe doesn't grow in the tropics."

"Does it matter?" he brushed his mouth over her ear and along her jaw.

She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his head back. Meeting his eyes, she lost herself in their blue depths.

"No. It doesn't," she said and kissed him with complete disregard to anyone who might be watching. The heat of his body against hers never failed to set her blood sparkling and her mind soared with the potential of the evening, just the two of them, alone . . . It didn't happen often.

Sarah and Jim strolled by, arms around one another.

"Geez, get a room, you two," Sarah said.

Kate pulled back a fraction and without opening her eyes said, "Shut up, Sarah. Go find your own not-mistletoe."

"Come on." Without taking his hands off her, Greg stepped sideways. "We'll share. In fact, you two can just have it. We'll find some more somewhere else."

Jim chuckled.

"There ain't no mistletoe where you two are going."

Kate narrowed her eyes at him.

"You just mind your manners around my little sister. Santa's watching, remember?"

Jim gave her a knowing wink.

"You better hope he isn't."

"See you in the morning, Katie. Raider and I'll crash in your tent tonight, okay?" Sarah grinned, then added, "since I doubt you'll be using it."

"If you sleep in my bunk, you'd better be by yourself," Kate warned, biting back her own grin. "If not, change the sheets."

Sarah blushed. She pretended to ignore her sister's implication by studying the other Black Sheep. The boys were in rare form. She noticed, that TJ, oddly, was drinking beer and avoiding his own punch but was doling it out generously to female personnel. As she watched, he scooped a glass off a serving tray and presented it to an attractive nurse with a flourish.

"Hello, honey, have you tried this punch? It's a Black Sheep original, just like me."

Sarah rolled her eyes and, like TJ, sipped her beer.

 **XXX**

After stopping at Kate's tent to get the picnic hamper and a couple of blankets, Greg steered the jeep toward the beach.

"Micklin was sure in a mood this afternoon," Kate said as they rolled along the shore. Meatball perched happily on her lap.

"You noticed?"

"Yeah. Hard not to. He's been growly all week."

"He's never growly to you, he likes you for some reason."

She punched him in the arm.

"Of course he does, I'm very likable."

"This morning, he told me you reminded him of someone. Any idea where that came from?"

Kate shook her head. They drove in silence for a minute.

"Sometimes he reminds me of my dad. The other day, he insisted on changing a tire on the jeep for me. I could have done it myself but he wouldn't let me. And he gave Boyle hell for teasing me about you the other day. Said that was no way to talk to a lady and he'd feed him his teeth if he didn't knock it off."

Greg squeezed her leg.

"You're the only one he doesn't try to intimidate."

"Hey, weren't all the mechanics at the Sheep Pen tonight?"

"Uh-huh. Anderson invited Micklin to come over but he said he had too many repairs to make. He told the other boys to take the night off, he was going to start on the birds."

"So he's repairing planes, by himself, on Christmas Eve?"

"Sounds that way."

"That's not right." Kate bit her lip. "There's something going on with him." She reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Greg? Would you mind if we went back? I think we should check on him."

"That's what I love about you, Cameron." He spun the jeep in a U-turn. "You always have to get the other side of the story."

 **XXX**

Micklin was balanced on the top rung of a ladder, half in, half out of a Corsair engine when Greg pulled up and killed the jeep's motor.

"What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?" He noticed Kate and tipped his hat. "Miss Kate."

"We brought you some supper – we've got tons and thought maybe – since you're by yourself -" Kate started.

"That's real nice of you, missy, but I don't need nothing. Two of you got plans that don't involve me, I'm sure of that. Go on with you, get outta here."

"Damnit, Micklin, you're not going to sit here alone on Christmas Eve," Greg said.

"In case you ain't noticed, I'm not sitting here alone. I'm working. Gave the damned college boy mechanics the night off. They're over in the Sheep Pen, getting lit up like a Christmas tree. Won't be worth a crap tomorrow."

Greg lifted the hamper out of the jeep and carried it to the mechanics' shed. Kate shook a blanket open and tossed it over an ammo crate to serve as a tablecloth.

"What are you doing?" Micklin eyed her suspiciously.

"You're going to celebrate with us." She started unpacking the hamper. "Whether you like it or not."

"Who invited you?"

"We invited ourselves," she said mildly.

"Then you can just un-invite yourselves. I don't need nobody feeling sorry for me just because it's Christmas Eve."

Kate turned to him and fisted her hands on her hips.

"And you can just get over it, Sergeant. Take a break and have something to eat. We're not leaving until you do."

Micklin climbed down the ladder. He set the torque wrench on the workbench. He crossed his arms across his chest and studied Kate.

"God, you remind me of my daughter," he said.

 **XXX**

In the Sheep Pen, the party was escalating. Pilots, mechanics, support personnel and nurses crowded into the building. The alcohol was flowing and the atmosphere was festive. For just a few hours, the glitter and music let everyone escape the uncertainty of life in a front area.

Bobby Boyle pushed past Sarah, holding a tray of beer bottles and punch cups aloft like a waiter in a high end restaurant. He accidentally stepped on Sarah's toes and she crowded even more tightly against Jim. He didn't seem to mind and wrapped both arms around her.

"I think everyone on this rock is in this building," she muttered. "Except for my sister and Greg. And Meatball."

"Shall we follow their example?"

Sarah's eyes widened. She had a pretty good idea what her sister and Greg were doing. While she wasn't opposed to that sort of thing, she and Jim had an unspoken understanding that their first time together would happen somewhere with the proper furnishings. A blanket on the beach did not meet those requirements.

Jim held his hands out to his sides, dark eyes full of humor.

"Just a walk on the beach, darlin', nothing more. I think your dog wants to get out of here."

They both looked down at Raider, who was under the table, looking cross. The dog looked cross a great deal of the time, so it was a little hard to tell how this was any different.

Sarah regarded Jim with barely concealed humor.

"That's what I like about you, you're always looking out for my dog's best interests. I know it would never occur to you to get me alone in a deserted spot while everyone else on the base is here."

"With Fangs there as our chaperone? Never."

He pulled her under the fake mistletoe and kissed her, then with Raider trotting happily next to them, they left the crush of the Sheep Pen behind.

 **XXX**

Dee had a clipboard in one hand and a pencil clenched between her teeth. She was inventorying medical supplies and humming "Joy To The World" while trying not to think about what she and Casey could be doing if she wasn't stuck here. Somewhere in the background, an agreeable but mildly slurred tenor was singing "Silver Bells."

Casey stepped up behind her and kissed the side of her neck.

"Hey." She looked over her shoulder with a smile. "You couldn't wait for me to get off duty?"

Casey kissed her again in answer and looked around the quiet ward. "Are you the only one here tonight?"

"Look around, do you see any patients? It's just me and Doc Reese. He's around here somewhere." Dee gestured at the rows of empty, neatly made beds as she turned to face him. "Corporal Reid came in off the Lexington this afternoon for an emergency appendectomy. He's doing fine but someone has to monitor his vitals through the night. Otherwise . . ." She spread her hands and grinned. "It's just the two of us." She saw the look in his eyes and grabbed his tie even as his hands slid down to cradle her hips.

"Do not get any ideas, Lieutenant. Just because Delmonte is gone doesn't mean I'm not held to the highest standards of professional conduct," she said haughtily. She and Delmonte had had more than one differing opinion of what constituted professional conduct in the past.

Casey slapped her hip.

"I think your conduct is extremely professional. Here, I brought us a drink." He handed her a bottle of TJ's concoction. "But go easy on it. That stuff is wicked."

Dee uncorked the bottle and sniffed appreciatively. She sipped and closed her eyes.

After a moment's contemplation, she said, "A classic holiday rum punch with flamboyant apple cider highlights, hints of cinnamon and cloves with a complex but pleasant citrus finish and after tones of . . . whisky?"

He laughed.

"Who knew I was in love with a sommelier?"

"That's an expert in wine, not God knows whatever this is." Dee put the cork back in the bottle and set it down. "How was the party?"

"The usual. Sarah showed up out of the blue so Jim was pretty happy. They didn't stay long, said something about needing to take the dog for a walk."

"Is that what they're calling it now?"

Casey laughed.

"Greg and Kate left before they did. I guess they, uh, needed to take Meatball for a walk, too."

"That's it. We gotta get a dog," Dee said. "Laura said she'd come on shift at 2200, so I can leave then. If . . ." Casey pulled her into an embrace. " . . . you can . . ." He kissed her, his mouth gentle but persistent, teeth nipping at her lower lip. ". . . wait that long." She gave up and returned the kiss, drawing his tongue against hers in promise.

The singing was growing louder. Someone was mangling the words to "Christmas Island."

"Hey, kids! Merry Christmas! Whoa, looks like you're already celebrating! Sorry, don't let me interrupt."

Casey and Dee broke apart, turning to see Dr. Jim Reese weaving toward them. He held a bottle aloft.

"You should try this! It's amazing! JT . . . JR . . . TJ, that's it, TJ, brought me a bottle. He called it . . ." Reese screwed up his face in concentration. "He called it Kilts On The Beach. Funny name, fantastic stuff. Here! I'll share!" Reese failed to negotiate the doorway and bumped off the frame, then careened into the ward. Casey leaped up to steady him.

"Oh. My. God." Dee stared. "He's absolutely smashed."

"Should get a bottle of this for Delmonte. She could put it on her cornflakes in the morning. Might sweeten her up a little," Reese declared.

"Sit down before you fall down," Dee ordered. She turned to Casey. "Put him in that chair in the corner. Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll pass out."

"Get lucky? Is someone getting lucky?" He blinked owlishly at Casey. "You should get lucky tonight. I think Dee loves you. Have I told you what a spectacular nurse she is? Is she that spectacular in –"

"Let's sit down, Doc," Casey interrupted him smoothly, throwing an arm around Reese's shoulders and propelling him a few yards to the chair Dee indicated. "And why don't I take this for safekeeping." He pried the bottle of rum punch out of the doctor's grip. The level in the bottle was alarmingly low. Reese flopped bonelessly into the chair. His head lolled back and came into contact with a metal file cabinet with a dull thud.

"I think he passed out," Casey said. "Geez, that looks uncomfortable. Should we move him to a bed?"

"As long as he's breathing, he can stay where he is," Dee said, rolling her eyes. This night was just getting better by the minute.

 **XXX**

Greg froze and Kate nearly dropped the tin of smoked salmon she was opening.

"Your what?" they said in unison.

"My daughter," Micklin repeated. He didn't take his eyes off Kate. "I don't know if she looks like you or not, although her mama was awful pretty, so I expect she is, too. Never met her but five minutes after I met you, I reckoned she'd be just like you – got smarts, speaks her mind, won't take no crap from no one, especially men." He glared pointedly at Greg.

"Wait, wait, wait, back up," Kate said slowly. "You have a daughter? I didn't know there was a Mrs. Micklin."

"There ain't. Coulda been, maybe, if I'd done things different."

"We're going to need a drink to go with this story." Greg pulled a corkscrew out of the hamper and went to work on the wine.

"Naw. No story. Not important. Just leave me a plate of that food you're so determined to share and get out of here."

"No. You started it," Kate said firmly. "You have to finish it now." She took his elbow and steered him to one of the battered jeep seats that had been bolted to sawn-off tree stumps to serve as chairs. "Sit."

Greg poured wine into the two glasses from the hamper and a porcelain coffee mug off the work bench and handed them around.

"Not important," Micklin said again. "What the hell sissy stuff is this?" He eyed the wine suspiciously.

"Be careful with that," Greg said. "That sissy stuff will have you on your ass if you're not used to it."

The line chief considered the contents of the cup and downed it in one gulp.

"Not bad," he pronounced and held the cup out for a refill. Greg obliged.

"If I drink this sissy wine with you, will you go away?"

"Maybe." Kate said. She finished unpacking the hamper. Micklin reached for the pickled eggs. Kate moved them way. "Story first."

He looked vexed.

"Yeah," he said, more to himself than her. "She'd be just like you."

Kate sank into a chair and picked up her wine glass. She fixed Micklin with an inquisitive gray gaze.

"Talk."

Micklin sighed. He took another drink, slower this time.

"Her mama's name was Ellie. We grew up in the same town but her family and mine, we was from different sides of the track. Her daddy came home from the office every day at 6 p.m. and his butler took his coat at the door. Mine came home from the mill and ate at the kitchen table with my ma and all seven of us kids. Ellie and me got along just fine, though. Real fine. I can't say we loved each other." Kate thought he colored slightly before he continued. "But we sure enjoyed each other.

"We was just dumb kids, but we was smart enough to know we wasn't ever gonna be together once we graduated high school. Her folks would never agree to that. She went off to some fancy college and I went to work at the mill."

He took his hat off, rubbed the red stubble on his head, put the hat back on. Now that he'd started talking, the words spilled out in a torrent.

"She came home from college that fall and came to see me, for old time's sake, she said. I took her out to a little cabin by the lake and oh, we had us a time. Just one night, then she went back to college. Her pa would have shot me if he'd known what his little girl and I did. I figured that was the end of it, just one last fling. I was already thinking about joining the Corps, couldn't stand workin' in that damn mill."

Greg leaned forward and tipped more wine into Micklin's cup. He drank it without giving it any apparent thought. His eyes grew distant and when he spoke again, his voice was rough.

"That Christmas Eve, she came to see me again. It was snowing, just after sundown. She wouldn't come in the house, said she was on her way to church. Someone had driven her and he stayed in the car. We stood on the porch. She told me she was pregnant. She knew the baby was mine cuz I was the only man she'd ever been with. For a minute, I damned near dropped down on one knee and asked her to marry me. Stupid fool. It never would have worked. Girls like her don't marry guys like me."

"Go on," Kate said softly.

"She'd met a boy at that college, said they loved each other, he knew about the baby and wanted to marry her anyway, give the baby his name. If her daddy knew the baby was mine, he'd write her out of the will. She hugged me goodbye and left. I joined up. I got a letter seven months later, said the baby was a girl. I never saw her again, Emilie or the baby. They named her Katherine."

They sat in silence.

"You've never met your own daughter?" Kate asked.

"Naw. But that was a long time ago. She's a little older than you, probably married with kids of her own now. That little girl was better off thinking her daddy was some fancy college-educated doctor or lawyer, not an old grunt like me."

"I'm sorry you never got to be part of her life."

"Don't be," Micklin said gruffly. "I know she got a good life. That college boy must have really loved her mama if he took another man's baby as his own. He could give her all the nice things I never could. It was better that way. It's just . . . she's my little girl and I never even seen her. Never knew what she looked like or how she walked or talked or acted. I imagined a hundred different ways she could look but could never fix her in my mind. Then you came along and your name was Katherine and . . ."

He broke off, studied the contents of his cup, clearly embarrassed.

" . . . and you're everything I always thought she'd be like. When I look at you, I think somewhere, I got a daughter who's as pretty and smart and tough as you." He paused. "Maybe that's a dumb thing to think. What's in this wine? I never told anyone this before."

"No, it isn't dumb. Wherever she is, I'm sure she's everything you could imagine and more. Look who she's got for a pa."

Kate threw her arms around Micklin and squeezed him tightly. She planted a kiss on his cheek. Micklin patted her hand, then, flustered, reached for the wine to cover his emotion. The torrent of words had run its course.

"Gimme some more of that sissy wine."

He splashed liberally into all of their glasses.

Kate lifted hers.

"Here's to family," she said. "No matter how it's packaged."

The men clinked their glasses against hers.

"To family," they echoed.

"Now, girl, you gonna let me eat or you trying to starve me to death on Christmas Eve?"

 **XXX**

Inside the Sheep Pen, the party had reached a raucous crescendo. TJ's punch substantially reduced both inhibition and coordination and the celebrants were swaying, arm in arm, singing carols. TJ, wisely enough, had continued to abstain from his own creation and as a result, retained a level of sobriety that was far and above the rest of the party-goers.

Bobby Boyle had shown no such restraint and on the way back from the punch bowl for the fifth time, tripped over Jerry Bragg's feet. The fact that Jerry was flat on his back under the table, his feet sticking out at an unexpected angle, might have had something to do with it. The end result was the same, regardless of how the sequence began.

Bobby's drink flew through the air, its contents parting company with the cup in a graceful, arcing shower. The punch sparkled in the candlelight like liquid diamonds as it sprayed over the nearby grouping of candles. The alcohol caught with a whoomp worthy of an incendiary when it hit the flames. The cup hadn't even tumbled onto the floor before fire billowed several feet up the walls. One of Don's wreaths ignited, the flames crackling as the natural oils in the vines combusted.

TJ, who was in the middle of putting the moves on a curvy brunette nurse, was standing nearest to the conflagration. Later, none of the boys could agree on exactly what happened but they all agreed he kept the Sheep Pen from burning to the ground that night. And in true Black Sheep fashion, he didn't even stop to set down his beer. Grabbing the burning wreath with one hand and jerking it off the wall, he vaulted onto an empty chair and threw himself out the window. Embers floated in his wake like a low orbit comet as the candles on the window ledge ignited the hem of his trouser legs.

 **XXX**

"The guy never saw him coming," Sarah said as they made their way up the winding path from the beach to the base. "Raider had him on the ground before he ever had a chance to shoot. I almost felt sorry for the man – if he hadn't been trying to kill me in the first place – I mean, one minute he thinks he's going to pull off an ambush and the next minute, he's got 65 pounds of angry dog hanging off his arm and me shoving a rifle in his chest. Not his best day."

"I never dreamed I'd have a girl who was such a badass," Jim said, swatting her affectionately on that portion of her anatomy.

"Don't you forget it."

They paused near the Sheep Pen. Sound and light spilled out the windows, filling the tropical night with music and laughter. The vocalists sounded inebriated but surprisingly on-key as Bob Anderson led an enthusiastic rendition of "White Christmas."

"Are you sure you want to go back in there?" Jim asked. He wrapped his hands around her waist and brushed his lips over hers. Sarah knew he had several ideas of where they could go and none of them involved the collectively assembled personnel of the 214. He took her mouth, his hands sliding down to pull her hips against him and she surrendered to the kiss, enjoying the heat of his rangy body. If Santa was watching, that was just too bad. Next to her leg, she felt Raider grumble under his breath. The dog always had commentary on Jim when he kissed her. She pulled back.

" _That_ is all you're getting for Christmas, no more. Come on." She took his hands. "It's your unit's party, we should go back in –"

There was a sudden ripping sound and TJ flew through a side window, a flaming wreath gripped in one hand, fire licking from his pants legs. He hit the ground head first with a bone-jarring thud and rolled, stunned, onto his back. Dazedly, he let go of the still-burning wreath, which fell back against his chest. A shower of sparkling embers cascaded down around him and tongues of flame ignited his shirt.

"Wiley!" Jim yelled. He and Sarah stared in horrified surprise, then both bolted toward TJ's still form.

Jim gained the lead in the few remaining yards and tore off his shirt. He threw himself at his wingman, rolling him in the dirt and using his shirt to smother the flames. Sarah knocked the wreath out of the way and stomped it into a smoking ruin. She fell to her knees and helped Jim. Heat seared her arms and something sliced into her leg but she ignored it. Raider ran circles around all three of them, barking furiously.

There was a great deal of yelling from the Sheep Pen. Sarah heard water splashing as the partiers put out any residual flames inside the building. Tendrils of smoke drifted out the open window where a cluster of curious faces appeared.

"You guys okay?" Don asked, sticking his head through the tattered screen.

"Yeah, we got this," Sarah yelled back as she rolled out of the melee on the ground. What exactly they had remained to be seen. Jim slapped at a few remaining embers on TJ's trouser cuffs and sat back, wiping an arm across his brow.

TJ blinked in confusion and struggled to a sit. He grimaced as he flexed his left hand.

"Ouch," he said.

"Damnit, Wiley, you're as big of a menace on the ground as you are upstairs," Jim said.

Sarah quickly evaluated TJ. His eyes were a little out of focus and she thought it might be the result of his wheels up landing. His left hand was red and blistering. The skin along one side of his face was reddened and one eyebrow was singed off. She couldn't tell how badly burned his legs might be.

"Am I on fire?" he asked, dazed.

"Not any more. Be still," she ordered. He didn't seem inclined to argue. Standing up, Sarah sprinted to a nearby hydrant. Grabbing the bucket hanging from the spout, she pumped it full and set it down by TJ. Part of the contents sloshed over the side, splashing both of them and creating a mud slick as she knelt. She grabbed TJ's burned hand and plunged it into the water. Jim looked at her questioningly.

"If you can cool the underlying tissue quickly, there's less damage from a burn," she said.

She turned her attention to Jim. His face was smeared with soot and there were several seared patches of skin on his chest and arms. Blood was trickling down one bicep. Sarah reached out and turned his arm toward the light. Her fingers gently explored the wound.

"For the love of God," she muttered, "there's never a dull moment with you, is there? It's not enough to throw yourself on top of a guy who's on fire, you have to land on broken glass too?"

Jim looked down at his arm, then at TJ, then at the shattered brown glass littering the ground. It was all that remained of the beer bottle TJ had been holding when he jumped out the window.

"This is the thanks I get for saving your sorry ass, Wiley?" he said. "I keep you from getting charcoaled and I end up getting cut up by your broken beer bottle?"

"There's beer? Where?" TJ looked around hopefully. He started to get up. Sarah pushed him back to the ground.

"You don't listen. Sit. Still." She turned to Jim. "I think he's got a concussion to go with the burns."

Sarah dug into her pocket and pulled out the small pocketknife she always carried. She picked up what was left of Jim's shirt and with a quick slash, cut off the sleeve and tied it tightly around his bleeding arm. Ripping up the shirt's charred remains, she folded the unburned fabric into a pad and slapped it over the bandage. "Hold that there. Keep pressure on it."

"You're a handy little thing to have around," Jim said. "You'd make a good medic."

Sarah shrugged.

"When you train working dogs, you get really good at stopping the bleeding."

He reached out and brushed at a charred spot on her shirt.

"When I thought we'd have a hot time tonight, this wasn't what I had in mind."

"Jim Gutterman, you are impossible." Sarah held his gaze. He had the loveliest brown eyes. Those eyes and that good old boy's smile had caught her heart the first time they met.

"Do you still love me?"

She smiled and brushed her lips over his.

"Yes. But I don't know why."

"Good." Then he added, "You know your arm is burned and your leg is bleeding?"

She looked down. Several spots the size of half dollars on her right forearm were fiery red and blood was seeping through the khaki knee of her trousers. She hadn't felt either of them until Jim pointed them out.

"Damn, I must have landed on the glass, too."

She stood and held out her hand to TJ. "Get up. We're all going to the hospital. I'll drive." When Jim started to argue, she held up a hand. "I'm the only one who's sober and not concussed or bleeding profusely."

 **XXX**

Having regained consciousness, Doc Reese was singing "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" from where he was sprawled in the corner. He was getting about half the words right. Dee was keeping an eye on him while she finished the supply inventory. Casey was playing checkers with Corporal Reid.

Boots sounded on the hospital's steps and the door banged open. Dee turned from her clipboard to see Sarah and Jim stagger into the ward with TJ stumbling between them. All three of them were smeared with soot and blood. Jim was shirtless and blood seeped through a ragged field dressing on his bare arm. TJ looked like someone had tried - and succeeded - to set him on fire. He had a dazed look in his eyes and was clutching his head. Sarah's pants leg was soaked in blood.

Dee sprang to her feet. She stared from the battered trio to Casey, who was staring back, open-mouthed.

"Please tell me this isn't what I get to unwrap," she managed. Then, "What the hell happened to you lot?"

"I honestly don't know," Sarah said. "Jim and I were, well, that's not important, and then TJ came flying out the window, on fire . . .

Dee held up a hand.

"Never mind. How bad are they? Bring him in here." She pointed at TJ and motioned the rest to follow as she led the way into one of the treatment areas.

"TJ's got first degree burns on his hand and maybe a concussion," Sarah said. "He landed pretty hard on his head. He's got some other burns, too, but I don't think they're that bad. Jim got cut by broken glass and it's probably going to need stitched. I'm, well - " She indicated the burns on her arm and the blood seeping through her pants leg. Passing Doc Reese, she added, "What happened to him?"

"TJ's punch," Casey said as he helped Jim hoist TJ onto the exam table. "Apparently he was the first casualty."

"Is he the only doc on staff tonight?" Jim asked.

"Yeah," Dee answered. "All the others went to that party on Espritos. The hospital's empty except for Corporal Reid." She stepped forward and caught TJ before he reeled off the table. "All right then, let's have a look at that hand."

She worked efficiently, cleaning the burn and applying salve and loose bandages, while Sarah and Jim kept TJ from toppling over. Casey served as assistant, handing her supplies.

"You're going to have to drink with your other hand for a few days," Dee told TJ, tying off the final knot on the bandage. "Short of x-raying your head, I don't know if you cracked your skull or not but your reflexes are good and your pupils are equal so I'll go out on a limb and say you're going to make it." She paused, studying him suspiciously. "You're surprisingly sober, everything considered."

"I had plans for tonight," TJ muttered. Jim helped him off the table and he slouched into a chair and let his head roll back.

"Didn't we all," Casey said.

"So you brewed up that concoction but didn't drink any of it?"

"He had other victims in mind," Sarah said drily before TJ could defend himself. "He was pushing it pretty hard with the nurses. I guess Boyle spilled some on the candles and poof!" She made an exploding motion with her hands. "TJ was the only one sober enough to react before the whole building caught fire. He grabbed the wreath and threw himself out the window."

"Serves him right," Dee muttered. "All right, Gutterman, you're next."

She cleaned and sutured Jim's arm. It took five stitches to close the cut and Jim swore loudly and profusely at TJ with each one. He gripped Sarah's hand the whole time. She bit her lip and tried not to grin. He hated needles and she knew it.

Dee wrapped a clean bandage around Jim's arm.

"Okay, Sarah," she said brightly, "take your pants off and let's have a look at your leg."

Sarah's eyes went wide. Jim chuckled. TJ sat up with interest. Even Casey broke into a smile.

"Either you take them off or I'll have to cut the pants leg open," Dee said practically. "Do you want the boys to leave?"

"Aw, come on Sarah, we've all seen girls' panties before," TJ said. "And I'm sure Jim's seen yours plenty of times."

"Shut up, TJ," Jim snarled.

Sarah grumbled under her breath. Serving with an all-male unit on Rendova, she thought modesty around the opposite sex had its place but surrounded by friends, under the harsh glare of hospital lights, it wasn't really necessary. She winced and wobbled as she bent to untie her boots. Jim caught her elbow to steady her. She kicked her boots off and unfastened her belt. TJ was watching with interest as she shimmied out of her fatigues.

"Find somewhere else to look, Wiley," Jim warned. "If you don't have a concussion now, you're gonna get one if you can't keep your eyes to yourself."

TJ suddenly found the ceiling very interesting.

The cuts on Sarah's leg were numerous but not deep. Dee cleaned and bandaged them and Sarah pulled her muddy, blood-caked trousers back on. Dee salved and bandaged the worst of the burns on her forearm and wrapped them loosely.

Then she surveyed the group. A great deal of soot, dirt and blood had transferred from her patients to her person. After scrubbing her hands, she said firmly, "This calls for a drink. Where's that bottle of sauce?"

Casey retrieved it and they passed it around the group in companionable silence.

"None for you, you have a head wound," Dee said, pre-empting TJ as he reached for it.

"I'll drink your share," Sarah joked. She took a long swallow and nearly choked. "What the hell is this stuff?"

"Take it easy, darlin', it's not for amateurs," Jim warned.

"TJ, you're staying here tonight," Dee said. "Don't argue with me!" she added automatically to forestall his protests that he had plans for the night. "You need to be monitored for 24 hours and I doubt anyone back at the base is capable of taking care of themselves right now, let alone you." She began to herd all of them out of the exam room and pointed at a bed. "Go lie down."

TJ stood up and immediately threatened to topple over. Jim caught him and steered him toward the closest available bed. TJ sprawled on his back and threw a forearm over his face. He groaned theatrically.

"You need anything?" Jim asked.

"No. Dee gave me something for the burns. My hand doesn't hurt. Go on, take Sarah and get out of here. The night's still young."

"Naw. I'll stay."

"You don't have to," TJ said. "I bet you and her got better things to do."

Jim frowned.

"Yeah, we got better things to do but hell, TJ, you're my wingman. I can't leave you alone in the hospital on Christmas Eve," Jim said with a sigh. He pulled a chair next to the bed and dropped into it. "Dee says someone needs to keep an eye on you, make sure you don't stop breathing or some damn fool thing. I'm so used to babysitting you upstairs, I might as well do it on the ground, too."

"But what about -?" TJ cut his eyes to Sarah, who was passing the bottle back and forth with Dee.

Jim laughed.

"Naw, we really didn't have any plans for tonight. Plus, if she keeps drinking like that and she's gonna be passed out in no time. That girl can't hold her liquor."

"Thanks, Jim, I really appreciate it, you're the best wingman a guy could – "

"Shut up, Wiley."

 **XXX**

Once it was determined no one had died and the Sheep Pen wasn't going to burn to the ground, the party picked up where it had left off. The ceiling fans cleared the smoke, French got a broom and swept up the charred bits of debris and aside from scorch marks on the wall and a few singed pin-ups, the atmosphere was restored to its former festive state.

Studying the ruined window screen, Anderson scratched his head and said to Boyle, "We really ought to fix this before Greg sees it."

Boylw nodded in agreement. While the boys routinely put the building's interior back together after brawls, they'd never actually managed to set it on fire before. TJ's quick reaction had undoubtedly kept the whole building from going up in flames but had left a gaping hole in his wake. Greg was going to notice that and it might be easier to fix it than explain it.

"I think I saw a roll of screen by the mechanic's shed," Anderson said. "Come on, we can have it nailed back in before Greg ever finds out."

"All right, I need to take a break and sober up a little anyway. You better drive." Boyle wove his way toward the door. "Hey, why aren't you drunk?"

Anderson chuckled.

"Unlike you, my friend, I abstained from TJ's concoction because my fair Ellen and I will steal away to celebrate the holiday later, much as I suspect Greg and Kate are doing right now."

"Yeah," Boyle said and sighed. "I bet I know what they're giving each other for Christmas."

Anderson brought the jeep to a stop and killed the lights 30 yards from the mechanic's shed.

"We'll park here and walk the rest of the way. I don't want to run into Micklin tonight," Anderson said. "He's been so cranky this week he'd probably shoot first and ask questions later."

"How is that different from any other day?" Boyle muttered.

The two men got out of the jeep and made their way through the shadows. Boyle stumbled and crashed into a stack of wooden crates.

"Shhhh!" Anderson hissed. He grabbed Boyle's arm and pulled him upright. "Two of us are gonna make too much noise. I got a better idea. You go back to the jeep. Give me two minutes. That roll of screen is sitting right outside, I'll pick it up then duck in and grab some wire cutters off the tool bench. Micklin's the only one there and he'll be out on the line. You drive by and I'll jump in and we can clear out before he sees us." He paused, frowning. "You're sober enough to drive that far, right?"

Boyle assured him he was. Anderson disappeared into the darkness.

 **XXX**

Kate tipped the last of the wine into Micklin's glass. After his surprise revelation, he'd been reluctant to say much more and neither Kate nor Greg had pushed. The knowledge hung in the air between them, sparkling and fragile, like a raindrop suspended from a leaf.

Kate had the feeling the topic would never come up again and if it did, Micklin would deny it vehemently. He'd told them in unexpected confidence, with the unspoken agreement his words were never intended for public consumption.

The conversation dwindled as they enjoyed the end of the wine and Kate tidied the remains of the picnic into the hamper. Greg looked up suddenly.

"Did you hear that?" he said, looking into the shadows beyond the mechanics' shed. He held up a hand. "There it is again."

Kate heard it now, a shuffling sound, a grunt and more shuffling. It sounded like one of the wild pigs that inhabited the interior of the island.

"That better not be one of them damn hogs again," Micklin said, rising unsteadily to his feet. "Last time one of them critters wandered down here, it made a hell of a mess."

"Stay here," Greg said, pointing at Kate.

She rolled her eyes. Like that was going to happen. She followed him, flattening herself against the side of the shed as they crept toward the corner. The sounds continued.

"I'm gettin' my rifle," Micklin muttered, weaving unsteadily as he vanished into his quarters.

Greg looked back and found Kate shoulder to shoulder with him.

"I thought I told you to stay put."

"You did."

"Do you ever do anything you're told?"

She smiled.

"Once in a while."

They edged along the back wall of the shed, moving with stealth in the darkness. Kate could hear heavy breathing and muffled grunts ahead of them. On second thought, it didn't really sound like a hog. It sounded like -

Several things happened at once.

Greg rounded the corner of the shed and ran smack into Anderson, who was looking backward over his shoulder and didn't see him. The younger man had a roll of screen wire under one arm and a pair of wire cutters in the other. Anderson swung around with a surprised squawk and the wire cutters caught Greg a glancing blow across the forehead. Blood rushed from the wound. Anderson dropped everything he was holding and stumbled backwards. He flailed for balance but went sprawling.

Kate stepped around the corner and froze in the glare of headlights bouncing crazily through the darkness. The jeep appeared out of nowhere and barreled straight for all three of them. She felt her feet leave the ground as Greg shoved her out of the way. She hit the dirt, landing hard on one hip, and rolled, coming upright just in time to see the jeep careen past and grind to a halt, missing the shed, Greg and Anderson by inches.

Micklin appeared, helmet on his head, carrying his M1 rifle. He threw a switch inside the shed and light blazed over the scene.

"I dunno what you college boys is doin' sneaking around my business!" Micklin roared, brandishing the rifle. "But I ain't havin' none of it!"

"For God's sake, Boyle, you ran over my foot!" Greg yelled. He was leaning against the jeep, grimacing.

"Pappy, I'm sorry!" Boyle killed the ignition and jump out. He swayed dangerously and grabbed the vehicle's fender for support.

"You're so drunk you can barely stand up! Who told you to drive?"

"It was his idea." Boyle pointed, quick to throw Anderson under the bus.

"I can explain!" Anderson scrambled upright. He offered Kate a hand and pulled her to her feet.

"What are you yahoos doing out here?" Greg demanded. Kate could see his weight was carefully balanced on his left leg, keeping pressure off his right foot. His forehead was still bleeding and he wiped at it impatiently. Without saying anything, Kate reached into the picnic hamper and grabbed one of the cloth napkins. She folded it into a compress and held it to his forehead. He looked surprised, then took it from her with a smile.

The story spilled out in broken bits and pieces. The Christmas party. TJ's punch. The fire. TJ launching out the window. Jim and Sarah extinguishing him and taking him to the hospital. The plan to repair the window before Greg found out.

"We thought we'd just get the stuff and leave without disturbing you, Sarge," Anderson said. "We didn't think anyone would be here." He stopped and looked back and forth between Micklin, Kate and Greg. "What _are_ you doing here?"

"Long story, sonny boy, and it ain't none of your business." Micklin waved the rifle threateningly. Kate noticed his grip wasn't all that steady. He'd consumed the lion's share of the wine.

"Um, Sarge, this really isn't a shooting offense," Kate said. She stepped to his side. "Why don't you let me take this off your hands."

"Don't take yer eyes off 'em," he said, relinquishing the rifle. Kate reengaged the safety and set the firearm inside the shed.

Anderson and Boyle were still providing helpful details about the evening's events when Greg held up his hand.

"We'll deal with this in the morning," he said. He pointed at the two younger pilots. "Get out of here. And leave the jeep!"

They disappeared down the road, Anderson occasionally reaching out to steady Boyle. Kate winked at Micklin and was rewarded with a smile before he bade them good-night and walked slowly back toward his tent, leaving her and Greg alone.

Kate gripped his chin and pulled his face toward hers.

"Your head is still bleeding."

"Head wounds bleed a lot. I'm fine."

"How's your foot?"

"I'll walk it off. I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Kate said firmly. "You'd fall over if I pushed. Get in the jeep, we're going to the hospital."

"I don't need the hospital."

Anyone else would have backed down under that blue glare but Kate met it full on.

"Don't argue with me, Boyington, or you're not getting anything for Christmas."

"You're a bossy thing, anyone ever tell you that?"

"That's what you love about me." She put the jeep in gear. Catching up with Anderson and Boyle on the way back to the base, she slowed. "Get in, I'll give you a lift before Micklin changes his mind and shoots you anyway."

The boys hastily scrambled into the back with Meatball.

 **XXX**

Kate let the screen door slap behind her and staggered into the hospital with Greg leaning heavily on her. He had one arm around her shoulders, the other clamping the makeshift bandage to his forehead. Kate was limping. Her hip ached from where she'd landed when Greg tossed her out of the jeep's path. Still, it beat getting run over, she thought. Meatball followed them in and sniffed happily at Raider, who was lying by Sarah's feet.

Dee and Sarah turned toward them. Jim looked up from his conversation with TJ. Casey straightened from where he'd bent to check on Doc Reese, who was unconscious again.

"Oh Lord," he muttered. "Here comes the second wave."

"What have you two been doing?" Dee sputtered. "You told me earlier you had, um, plans."

"They got changed." Kate took in the assemblage. TJ was shirtless, his torso swathed with white bandages. Jim likewise was shirtless. Kate looked closely at her sister.

"Have you been on fire?"

"Yep."

Kate shook her head in disbelief. Raider was the only one among them who looked unscathed. He thumped his tail happily when she looked at him.

"Anderson and Boyle didn't really do the story justice," she muttered.

Casey pointed at Greg's foot. "You've got tire tracks over the top of your boot. Don't tell me, TJ's punch was involved."

"Boyle ran over me and damned near flattened the mechanics' shed." Greg paused but before anyone could interject, added, "That was before Micklin nearly shot Anderson because he thought he was a wild hog. Kate disarmed Micklin before he killed anybody."

"What were Anderson and Boyle doing at the mechanics' shed? They were at the party when I left." Confusion was written across Casey's face. "Why were _you_ guys at the mechanic's shed?"

"Anderson and Boyle were at the party until they left to get a roll of screen to fix the window in the Sheep Pen." Greg's eyes fell on TJ, who raised his bandaged hand in greeting from the bed. "Hell, it looks like they were telling the truth. I thought it had to be another one of their half-baked stories." He paused. "Never mind what Kate and I were doing there. It's not important."

"TJ's punch is the gift that keeps on giving," Casey muttered.

Dee waved Greg toward a bed.

"I'm the ranking medical officer here tonight," she said, "by merit of everyone else being on Espritos or unconscious." A jerk of her head indicated Doc Reese, snoring complacently in his chair. "Sit and take off your boot. I'll look at your foot."

"Don't argue with her, she made me take off my pants," Sarah said, her words slurring the tiniest bit.

"Give me that stuff." Jim relieved her of the bottle. "You'll thank me in the morning."

Greg did as Dee ordered. Kate sank onto an adjoining bed and glancing at her sister's blood- and smoke-stained clothing, addressed Sarah.

"You're all right? You're sure? And Jim?" she glanced across at Jim, who gave her a smug grin. "I didn't think your plans for the evening included ending up here."

"He's fine, nothing a few stitches didn't fix. I'm not sure what our plans for the evening were," Sarah admitted. "Hey, what are you two still doing on the base? I you were going to . . . you'd be . . . you know . . . " She blushed, then reached out and hugged her sister. "You know what I mean. But I'm glad you here. Glad we're all together."

Kate hugged her back.

"We kind of took a detour," she said. "Long story."

Dee pulled off Greg's sock and examined his foot. He winced.

"I don't think anything is broken, just bruised. Looks like the tire only went across your toes only, not your whole foot. You had on boots and it's rained so much lately the ground was pretty soft. I'll give you something for the pain tonight, you're not flying for a few days, right?"

"Keep your meds," he said. "Kate and I have another bottle of Aussie red that will do the job."

The other men perked up.

"And we're going to drink it in private," Greg said, "as far away from all of you as we can get. Nothing personal."

Dee gave up.

"Stay off your foot, try to keep it elevated and come see Doc Reese in a couple of days for a re-check." She glanced in his direction. "He should be sobered up by then."

Greg turned to Kate.

"What do you think? We've still got time to stop at the Sheep Pen for a midnight toast under the mistletoe."

Dee stamped her foot.

"Greg! I'm serious! You need to be flat on your back with that foot elevated or those toes are going to swell and you'll be in a world of hurt come morning."

Greg's grin got even bigger. He wrapped an arm around Kate.

"You heard the doc. I need to be flat on my back. Let's go."

"You're impossible, Boyington, you know that?" Kate said, aware of the men chuckling behind her.

"We've had this conversation before, sweetheart. You always come around to seeing things my way."

He squeezed her close and together they limped slowly out of the hospital, Meatball trotting behind them.

 **XXX**

A single star pulsed brighter than the others in the blue velvet sky above Vella La Cava, shedding its light on the military base below.

In his quarters near the mechanics' shed, line chief Andy Micklin slept dreaming of the daughter he'd never met and for the first time in almost 30 years, he smiled as he imagined her growing into a strong, smart, beautiful woman.

In the flickering light of a driftwood fire on the beach, Greg and Kate shared a second bottle of wine. Greg was, as advised, off his feet and on his back. Kate had effectively taken his mind off his foot. In the process, she'd put her own aches and pains out of her mind.

At the hospital, Laura showed up a little after 2200 hours. Dee administered a couple of cups of coffee and pronounced her fit to keep an eye on the ward's inmates. In the nurses' quarters, Casey undressed her and pulled her under the shower, washing away the layer of mud, blood and soot before they tumbled into bed and one another's arms.

In the hospital wing, TJ lay awake, listening to Jim snoring from an adjoining bed. It was nothing new. He was used to snoring. Sometimes Jim talked in his sleep, which was vastly more interesting.

Sarah slept in the bed on Jim's other side, Raider sprawled on the floor next to her. The dog snored intermittently, interspersed with dream growls and muzzle twitches that showed gleaming fang. Doc Reese lay in a bed across the aisle, where Casey and Jim had poured him. He snored louder than Jim and the dog put together.

There's nothing like Christmas Eve with the Black Sheep, TJ thought as he fell asleep. No matter if they were in the air or on the ground, no matter if it were Marine pilots, Navy nurses, Associated Press correspondents or Army dog handlers, they were family.

 **THE END**


End file.
